Instantané
by Xen Silver Quill
Summary: "A good snapshot stops a moment from running away." Perfectworldshipping vignettes. Lysandre/Sycamore. 9, "Restraint," or "In Which Gyarados Thinks His Trainer Is Totally Cray-Cray."
1. Sturdy

**Sturdy**

_/ˈstərdē/_

_adjective_

_: strongly made_

_: strong and healthy_

_: having or showing mental or emotional strength_

* * *

><p>A lesser man might have quailed in the face of the terrifying serpent's glare. To the pokémon professor's utter amazement, Lysandre stood his ground, returning the gyarados' gaze with those unblinking azure eyes. He was made of sterner stuff than Augustine, in any case. Said professor hardly dared to peep from where he crouched trembling behind a boulder.<p>

After several tense moments, the dragonlike pokémon finally blinked, pushing his massive head into his trainer's chest with a warm growl. Lysandre scratched the creature's hard blue crest briefly before turning to his friend's hiding spot with a sigh.

"Professor, must we go through with this every time I let the poor beast out? Giovanni would not hurt a fly unless at my command, much less 'chomp off' your 'petit derrière,' as you so eloquently put it."

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><p>AN: Hello, you crazy perfectworldshippers!

Don't mind me, just shipping this lion and tree together from my little corner of the internet. Reviews are always encouraging and appreciated and whatnot, but do as you please. Hope you have fun reading these drabbles as much as I do writing them! c;


	2. Jazzy

**Jazzy**

_\ˈja-zē\_

_adjective_

_: having the qualities of jazz music_

_: bright, lively, or fancy in a way that is meant to attract attention_

* * *

><p>He was a dreadful dancer.<p>

For all his poise and grace in his speech and mannerisms, Lysandre was awkward and clumsy as a ducklett fresh out of its egg on the dancefloor. Whether it was shyness or a reluctance to make an idiot of himself in public none could say. In any case, the art was not his forte. Such was his secret shame and terror as the smiling professor extended a hand to him.

"Professor, must we... I do not know how…" He looked away as words failed him. "You know I cannot do this." He almost physically recoiled against the wall as his face flushed. Fists stuffed in the pockets of his jacket and his brow drawn tight, the man firmly stood his ground. A blind man could have seen his distinct discomfort. The syncopated techno beat of the music and the flashing, multicolored lights were so foreign, so strange...

A soft touch at his cheek made him start and look up. Gentle, sparkling grey eyes peered back at him as Augustine smiled. "Then let me show you, mon amie. There is nothing to be afraid of or embarrassed about."

When the ginger-haired man made to deny that he was fearful of anything, the professor only laughed. "Just move to the beat, have some fun, live a little! Have a little faith in yourself, Lyssy - and in me. After all, it's as easy as, well, dancing!"

As Augustine caught him by the lapels of his coat and dragged him forward, Lysandre smiled in spite of himself. Perhaps, with the professor, it would indeed be that easy.

* * *

><p>AN: Lysandre, poor baby. My personal headcannon is that he totally has two left feet. Don't worry, Sycamore can lead you.


	3. Grief

**Grief**

_/ˈgrēf/_

_noun_

_: deep sadness caused especially by someone's death_

_: a cause of deep sadness_

_: trouble or annoyance_

* * *

><p>His tears fell with the rain.<p>

Smoke was still rising out of the gaping hole at Geosenge's heart. Lightning crackled and thunder rumbled in the sky as the storm broke. Augustine could not hold back a bitter smile. How tragically poetic - the heavens themselves wept alongside the professor, mourning the fall of the Team Flare leader.

_I wish I could say that I did not see this coming for a long time, mon cher,_ he thought, grey eyes cloudy and mirroring the raging tempest above him. _I wish that I could take the blame for all of this in some way. At least that would be better than knowing I could not help you, that no one could bring you back once started down this road._

_I don't suppose I could have saved you either way, though._

He stood at the edge of the great pit. A strong enough gust might have sent him falling in, but his body felt too heavy for that. It was too heavy even to stand, it seemed, as he collapsed on his knees in the mud. With a dull crack, his heart finally broke.

_Adieu, Lysandre. Tu me manqueras vraiment._

* * *

><p>AN: Written while listening to "Anthem of the Angels" by Breaking Benjamin. Commence with the sad feels. ;w;


	4. Chilly

**Chilly**

_/ˈchi-lē/_

_adjective_

_: noticeably cold_

_: feeling cold_

_: noticeably unfriendly_

* * *

><p>Whenever the professor slept over, Lysandre woke up cold and coverless, often as not.<p>

Buying a king size comforter (along with the quilts and sheets that were already on the bed) did nothing to help the matter. In fact, the more bedclothes Lysandre supplied for himself, the more his lover stole in the dead of night.

"Augustine..." he groaned groggily one night. There was a tangled, miniature mountain of blankets in the middle of his bed. Nestled within was the professor, tousled brown hair peaking out of the top. He looked a bit like a plush toy abomasnow that had been haphazardly put together with fabrics of varying hues and patterns.

The man looked so heated and snug that Lysandre wondered why Augustine did not catch fire. The ginger, on the other hand, was shirtless and dressed in nothing but red boxer shorts. When he tried to grab just one of the dozen of blankets, the professor snatched it away and draw the bundle about him even tighter.

Growling, Lysandre shot to his knees. Launching from his side of the mattress, he pounced bodily on the pile. This had been going on for too long. He had not slept well in a week because of his bed partner's sheet stealing ways. He was tired and grumpy and, Arceus damn it, just plain _cold_.

Hands tearing the bedclothes away, he ignored Augustine's muffled protests. "Have absolutely had enough of this..." muttered Lysandre. So caught up was he in trying to claim the comforter himself, he did not notice that he was becoming tangled in the mire of cloth and fluff himself. When he did finally realize, he was so hopelessly trapped that he could not again.

Nor had he expected to work himself so closely to the professor, whose face was now a mere two inches from his own. Lysandre's skin flushed instantly at the close contact. His blush deepened with irritation when Augustine had the gaul to _laugh_ at him.

"Oh, mon amour," the smaller man chuckled. He scotched closer and nuzzled against Lysandre's sleep-mussed orange mane. Sighing contentedly, Augustine laid his head on that broad, chiseled chest. "If you wanted to cuddle so badly, mon petit litleo, all you had to do was ask."

* * *

><p>AN: This fluffy drabble was inspired by meivey on tumblr. Her perfectworldshipping doodles are absolutely adorable! I highly recommend that you check her out if you have a chance. x3


	5. Sneaky

**Sneaky**

_/ˈsnē-kē/_

_adjective_

_: behaving in a secret and usually dishonest manner_

_: done in a secret and dishonest manner_

* * *

><p>He had a stalker.<p>

Lately, Lysandre simply could not shake the feeling of being watched. At the office where he worked, along the side of the canal when he went for a walk with his pyroar, in the apartment where he lived in uptown Lumiose - everywhere he could feel the burn of eyes trained on him.

He was not being paranoid, either. Sometimes he would catch the movement of a shady figure out of the corner of his eye. Other times he would hear the echo of footsteps behind him when he took a shortcut through the lonely alleyways of the city. His murkrow, Sebastian, also kept squawking madly at seemingly nothing, and that bird never peeped or ruffled a feather for anything.

Yes, he had a stalker, and-

"Oh for goodness sake, Professor!" Hanging like a mankey outside his window, decked out in night vision goggles and black ninja garb, was Augustine Sycamore. The man made an alarmed "EEEEK!" at being discovered and nearly let go of his hold on the rope.

Lysandre scowled at his lover, brow twitching furiously. "If I had known you were going so grossly misuse that Super Sneaky Spinarak Spy Kit, I would not have given it to you for Christmas." Shutting the blinds and curtains with a growl, he roughly raked a hand through his hair. More and more everyday he regretted giving into Augustine's petulant demands for spy gear.

_Mon dieu, one would think after six months of practice that he would get better_, thought Lysandre. _That is the fifth time I have caught him in the act this week alone..._

* * *

><p>AN: Crack headcannon: Augustine totally abuses the sacred powers of spy equipment to mess with Lysandre.


	6. Worry

**Worry**

/ˈwər-ē/

_verb_

_: to think about problems or fears_

_: to feel or show fear and concern because you think that something bad has happened or could happen_

_: to make (someone) anxious or upset_

_: to cause (someone) to worry_

* * *

><p>In his defense, Augustine had not seen the Thunderbolt attack coming.<p>

He had been doing field research involving ampharos outside of Mahogany Town when the accident happened. By gathering data on wild specimens, he had hoped to uncover more of the mystery surrounding its mega evolution. Matters had gone off without so much as a hitch for a week, the expedition proving quite fruitful where his research was concerned.

Then everything went to hell when the professor got just a bit too close to a protective ampharos mother and her mareep offspring.

The next thing he knew he was waking up three days later in the intensive care unit at the Goldenrod General Hospital. Augustine opened to bright industrial lighting and the sharp tang of disinfectant. His first conscious inhale was beyond painful. It was as if someone had lined the inside of his chest with a thousand burning pins. Scarcely had he taken five breaths before his lungs were on fire. Blinking away the tears of pain at the corners of his eyes, he peered down at his exposed collarbone. The edge of tight cotton bandages poked above the edge of his mint green hospital gown.

"So you are awake."

He started at the familiar voice. "L- Lyssy?" The professor twisted his head towards the sound, instantly regretting it as nausea built up in his throat from the movement. An aching groan escaped Augustine's lips as sweat formed on his temple and upper lip.

A gentle yet firm hand came to rest on his shoulder, restraining him from further movement. "Stop moving," the ginger commanded in his deep voice, "or you will rub your wounds raw."

"Wh-what happened?" Augustine stared up blearily at his lover. Lysandre's face was blank and stoic, expressionless as always. Yet the professor saw the dark circles under his eyes and the fatigued stress in his slight frown, signs that were rather telling of the other man's sour mood. Augustine's bewilderment only seemed to cause the shadows in his face to become deeper.

"You mean you do not remember?" There was something like incredulity in Lysandre's voice, and then his face darkened into a terrifying scowl. His fists clenched tightly at his side as he abruptly turned from the professor. Augustine could only stare after the man, his face rife bewilderment. What had he done to make him so upset?

Then memory came flooding back in a rush. _The ampharos. The arcing electricity of its attack as it hit him squarely in the chest. The horrifying moment when his muscles locked into spasm and his heart stopped. The black wave of unconsciousness as he began to asphyxiate. _

"I- I got hit by the Thunderbolt…" he stuttered, tiny shivers running over his skin. The professor brought a tentative hand to his chest. "I thought for sure that I was… that I was…"

"Dead?" Lysandre had rounded on him again, making no effort to hide his rage this time. "You very well could have been, you damned fool!" His hands slammed down on the bedside table, making Augustine all but jump out of his skin. Both men trembled uncontrollably, one from burning anger and the other from shocked fear. Lysandre's eyes locked with the professor's gaze. Blue bore into grey as he continued with a growling, barely restrained voice.

"Second degrees burns from neck to navel, in cardiac arrest, and more than likely brain damaged - that was how they found you." He thrust his face so that he was scarcely three inches from the professor. A low, threatening hiss had threaded itself into Lysandre's tone. Augustine internally flinched away from that anger, but in his current state he could stare back as the red-haired man growled his fury. "Thank your lucky stars that your assistants were near enough to keep you alive long enough to get you into emergency care. By some miracle there will not be any lasting damage to your heart or nervous system. The doctors did not expect that you would live past the first night…"

There was a broken note in those last few words, an almost sobbing edge that Augustine did not miss. Instinctively the professor brought his hand to caress Lysandre's cheek, though the action was slow and trembling.

It was the other man's turn to be surprised now at the touch. The professor's fingers curled around his lover's jaw and buried themselves in the wild flare of red hair. Slowly closing his eyes, the man leaned into the touch as he kneeled beside the gurney. Lysandre covered Augustine's hand with his own. A soft sigh blew from his lips, equal parts relieved and grieving.

"I'm sorry, mon amour," the professor laughed quietly, trying to ease the other man's pain away with the light tone. "I'm sorry I made you worry so…"

Lysandre did not reply, but the warm trail of tears that tracked from his shut eyes to flow over Augustine's hand was answer enough.

* * *

><p>AN: To put it lightly, Lysandre was rather concerned for his favorite professor. He just doesn't show it so well or in a typical way. ^o^;


	7. Nuzzle

**Nuzzle**

_/ˈnə-zəl/_

_verb_

_: to gently push or rub one's nose or face against (someone or something) to show affection_

* * *

><p>Lysandre was in a spectacularly foul mood.<p>

He was all but oozing stress when he finally walked in the door of his apartment. The clock in the kitchen read "1:00 A.M.," and dark circles around the man's eyes attested to the ungodly hour. Sighing tiredly, he collapsed into the nearest chair, resting his temples against the smooth tiles of the island counter. Its coolness numbed his frayed nerves somewhat, but there was little help for his pounding migraine.

Progress on the Holocaster Project had been slow and frustrating of late. For every step forward there were two steps backwards and all that. Certain tech wizards only made the problem worse with their diva-like behavior. (If he heard Aliana prattle on anymore about "codes" and "insufficient resources," he was liable to be short one computer engineer.)

"Lyssy? Is that you?" came a sleepy yawn. Not quite able to muster of the energy to lift his head or give a proper greeting, Lysandre's grunted muffle was the only acknowledgement he gave the professor.

There was a gentle touch at his shoulder, a hand running through his disheveled red locks. "Another late night?" Augustine helped him shrug off the jacket, going to hang it on the rack by the door before coming back.

"This project will be the death of me," muttered Lysandre as he braced himself against the counter with the elbow and looked blearily at the professor. "Although I suppose there is nothing for it at the moment. Do we have some of those pain killers left, by any chance?" Dear Arceus, it felt as if a bisharp had split his skull clean open…

"Afraid not, mon petit litleo." Augustine stared back at him apologetically, grimacing with his eyebrows drawn tight in sympathy for his lover's pain. Then, something like inspiration lit his face. "However, I do believe I have something even better. Wait here a moment…" Lysandre was hardly going anywhere in his current condition, but he did not have the energy to quip as much to the professor.

He must have dozed off for a few moments because the next thing he knew a tiny pair of rough tongues were licking at his cheekbones. A broken snore caught in Lysandre's throat, and he looked about him to see a shinx and litleo on either side of him on the island.

The litleo - his own, a fiery young kitten named "Theo" - _mrowwwed_ at his trainer, bumping his muzzle into his neck. Lysandre could not help the twitching of his lips in response.

Scratching briefly under Theo's neck, it was not a moment later before the shinx - Augustine's, a little girl he dubbed "Lexi" - plopped herself in his mane of hair. The static of her fur and her restless movements soon had his hair quite tangled and fluffy indeed.

Augustine, who had in the meantime been watching the odd trio, stifled a giggle at the state of Lysandre's head, which quite frankly resembled a raticate nest. He did not want to hurt the man's feelings, but oh, he looked ridiculous! When the professor looked at them again, Lysandre was attempting to vaporize the other man with his angry blue eyes.

"You think this is funny?" growled the ginger, a warning edge to voice. "Well, we will show you something even more hysterical. Theo, Lexi!"

The professor barely had a chance to scream as man and cat pokémon pounced upon him all at once. He was tackled bodily to the floor. Soon the kitchen erupted with the noise of struggling and shrieks of terror - and laughter.

"Ah, mercy, mercy!" The litleo and shinx worried his arms and legs with their tiny teeth and claws. This left his limbs effectively useless to defend himself and his torso exposed to Lysandre's attacks. Sneaky and knowledgeable fingers tickled mercilessly at his belly and chest. Augustine was sure his lungs would burst, and he could barely get out a plea for Lysandre to stop. "I'm sorry! Haha! Stop it! Stop- Hahahaha!"

Eventually, though, his lover was persuaded to cease and desist, and he called the mad kittens off. "That will teach you to laugh at me," he could be heard grousing afterwards.

Lysandre leaned back against the wall. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he sighed in exasperation. The tickle attack on the professor had left him quite drained, but there was no denying the irrepressible smile on his lips.

When Augustine made to scoot up next to him, Lysandre drew the smaller man into his arms. Theo and Lexi hopped into the professor's lap, purring and equally exhausted by the impromptu hunt.

"Are you feeling better now, mon cher?" the professor chirped happily, still breathy. Humor made his grey eyes shine brightly as he stared up at the ginger. Lysandre did not reply directly, only gently nuzzled the back of the professor's neck as he pulled the man even closer. Still, the contented sigh that blew through Augustine's dark hair was perhaps answer enough.

* * *

><p>AN:_"The prompt is frustration with work and a needed break that one of them needs. And what better way for both to relax than to play with pokémon and get into a tickle fight with one another? It'd be one of those moments you enjoy and sort of never forget."_

A three to five line drabble request from poplilly4009 on tumblr that grew into something just a bit bigger. This was a sweet little drabble to write, and I hope you like it Lilly! :3


	8. Inferno

**Inferno **

_/in-ˈfər-(ˌ)nō/ _

_noun_

_: a very large and dangerous fire_

* * *

><p>Soft lips stole his breath away on a heated sigh.<p>

Augustine was not quite sure when coherent thought had faded away into hazy pleasure. One moment he and Lysandre had been discussing his most recent research into charizard megaevolution. Then the next thing he knew they were standing lip-locked in a pile of scattered documents and broken glass.

The room was dark (at some point Lysandre must have backed him up against the lightswitch) save for a solitary lamp in the corner. His lover's eyes were cast into a deep azure with his wild hair wonderfully mussed and askew. Coat pushed off his arms and halfway down the lean muscles of his arms, the chiseled outlines of Lysandre's chest showed plainly through the fabric of the woolen shirt. Augustine could have sworn he even saw steam curling in tendrils from those thin lips, although that might just been the professor's overactive and distracted imagination.

Arceus above, he was _gorgeous_.

Soft fingers tilted the professor's chin up. He was only too happy to oblige as he lifted his head to expose his throat to expert lips. Lysandre nuzzled at a soft spot just behind the other man's ear, then at the delicate shell of his ear. Just barely stifling a sigh of pleasure, Augustine felt those lips travel to the vulnerable pulse along the side of his neck. He could keep a little "eep!" from escaping him this time as he felt a tongue slide languidly across his skin.

With an impatient growl, the professor caught his lover by surprise as he tilted his head to capture Lysandre's mouth with his own. Grabbing the ginger by the front of his scarlet turtleneck, he could feel Lysandre's purr of satisfaction as he was drawn once more into strong arms. "Je t'aime, mon amor," Augustine breathed as the kiss deepened. "Moi aussi, je t'aime," came the husky reply.

Then the lamp sputtered out at last, leaving them to shadows and bliss.

* * *

><p>AN: Yep, yep, I'm done. o/o; Another chapter, yadda yadda yadda, g'night!


	9. Restraint

**Restraint**

_/ri-ˈstrānt/_

_noun_

_: control over one's emotions or behavior_

_: a way of limiting, controlling, or stopping something_

* * *

><p>Sometimes the gyrados truly did not understand his trainer.<p>

Pokémon were, by their very nature, wild creatures, powerful in ways that humans could never hope to be. Yet at the same time they were a great deal simpler in mind and manner than their trainers.

A haxorus, for instance, would make no bones about running an interloper out of its territory, whereas human nations waltzed around each other in a petty, political dance to avoid conflict. A delibird gave its own food to others out of its generous spirit while humans never believed good intentions of anyone. A swoobat, so earnest in its pursuit of a lifelong mate, had more courage in regard to romance than the most stout-hearted of men.

So Lysandre's gyrados, Giovanni, could hardly fathom as to why his red-haired human was hesitant in his own pursuit of the professor. Lysandre was a strong, worthy specimen (as humans went), and there were no real rivals for Sycamore's attentions. Their interest in one another was plainly mutual even to their pokémon been quite some time. What, then, made Giovanni's trainer still so shy and aloof around the grey-eyed brunette?

Even now, as the two talked and strolled down the Cyllage seaside together, Lysandre held himself slightly apart from the other man. The gyarados growled quietly and looked away in his kind's equivalent of a shrug. If his human wanted to be strange, that was his prerogative. Giovanni had a far more important issue to attend to as it was.

_"Something troubles you, hmm?"_ A sleek, navy blue body nuzzled along his scales. Giovanni purred warmly and turned to stare into the garchomp's mischevious yellow eyes. Clutched gently against her chest was a scarlet-and-ebony egg - _their_ hatchling who would soon be born.

(Needless to say, Sycamore had been quite ecstatic upon learning that his dragon-type partner was expecting an "adorable bébé" with the gyarados. Only Lysandre, it seemed, had possessed the good grace to blush upon hearing the news himself.)

Giovanni leaned down to rub his face against hers in turn, nudging the egg briefly with the side of his crest. _"Nothing important, my beauty. Nothing important..."_

* * *

><p>AN: No, their garchomp and gyarados having cute little Gible babies togther is totally not symbolic of anything in Augustine and Lysandre's relationship. Also, said Gible is totally not symbolic of the love child these two will never be able to have. o_o; *flees*


End file.
